Not many days elapsed before Xerxes sought and formed the acquaintance of Clara Vanclure. Her prospective fortune made a deep impression upon his heart. He had heard of the relation between Ernest and the young lady, but he acted toward her as though he were perfectly ignorant of the ties which bound her to another. The civil law had given no validity to this gossamer tenure, and till that should be done, the conscience of Xerxes stood not in the way of his endeavoring to produce an alienation between the engaged lovers. However, he never intimated to any one that he entertained such a purpose. At length there was to be a grand ball in the town, and the young people generally were filled with delightful expectations. A few days before it occurred, Ernest called upon his intended. He had visited her regularly three or four times a week since his profession of religion, and had not once alluded to the subject which was so repulsive to her. When there was a pause in the conversation on the evening just referred to, she suddenly said: “Are you going to the ball, next Tuesday evening?” He looked earnestly at her, while a shade of sorrow and disappointment passed over his face. “My dear Clara,” he said in a subdued tone, “how can you ask me such a question, after the conversation we once had on this subject?” “I didn’t know but that you might have changed your notion,” she replied. “I thought you would give me credit for more stability of purpose than that.” “Well, I’m sure I can see no harm in going to a ball,” was her rejoinder. “That means you are going, does it?” asked Ernest. “I rather think I shall,” she replied with an air of firmness, indicating expectancy of opposition. “Well, do as you please,” he said. “I am sorry you cannot go,” she remarked, after a brief pause, “because I shall be forced to accept another escort.” “Who?” asked Ernest with an air of indifference that nettled Clara’s feelings. “Mr. Comston.” Ernest made a sudden movement which she noticed with pleasure. The first pang of jealousy had shot through his heart, stinging, tearing, sickening, shocking like a barbed arrow. It had not seriously occurred to him before, that there might be a rupture of the engagement into which she had so solemnly entered. He had regarded her as his wife, or at least, so near to that relation that the possibility of losing her, had not disturbed his thoughts. Suddenly this peril flashed into his mind, accompanied by a feeling of strong dislike toward the young man, whose name she had just pronounced with alarming tenderness. He tried to re-assure himself. Why should he for a moment doubt her constancy? How could she possibly prefer this _dude_ to himself? No, no; how could she? And yet--. He dreaded to give definite shape to the vague thought confusedly working to the surface. Clara perceived her advantage. “You would not go,” she said, “what then, was I to do? I’m bound to have an escort.”